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After making what could only be described as an 'amazingly horrible' first impression, your dad was determined to show her he was a good man who had nothing but the utmost respect for women...



"What've you got there, luv?" A cheeky grin crossed his lips as the woman laid her cards on the table. "Ooh, a pair of three's -- tough break, kitten. And you're all out of socks; looks like the top's next..."

With a shy giggle she reached for the bottom of her shirt and -

"Hey, Cupid!" Arms folded, Xander Harris leaned against the rec room's door frame looking less than pleased. This guy had been at the hospital for all of two days and already was commandering a game of strip poker!

And hadn't bothered to invite him! "Get your clothes back on, Spanky before I write your crazy ass up. Dr. Summers is waiting."

Chair scraping loudly across the tiled floor, the bleached blonde climbed to his feet and grabbed a nearby robe. "Keep your shirt on, nurse-maid. You'll be back to changing bedpans in no time."

Xander's eyes narrowed at the Brit as he squeezed past him,

"I'm an orderly. Not a nurse."

A snicker. "Whatever you say, Nancy."

"They're two completely different things!"

"Sounds like someone's got masculine identity issues."

The brunette's feet skidded to a stop. "I do not have..."

"Which is too bad..." he began, head cocking to the side, "for Elsie."

"It is not too -- wait, what about Elsie?" Xander asked.

"Cute, little nurse, B - Wing, right?" he grinned.

"Yeah."

"Couldn't take her eyes off you, mate."

The orderly's mouth opened and closed in perfect imitation of a fish. "Get out."

He dramatically brought a hand over his heart. "Swear on my mum's life."

"Wow," Xander breathed. "I never would've guessed it -- but you know, I always felt we had some kind of connection..."

"Of course."

"So, uh -- what do I do? How do I approach her?" he rambled as they passed into another hallway.

"Feed her compliments, birds lap that kind of shit up." A beat, "Tell her -- tell her you love the way she smiles. That, the best part of your whole pathetic day is seeing her laugh. You might wanna leave out 'pathetic' though; give it a less stalker-y quality."

"Right, right..."

"And then..." he continued, "you wanna tell her how much you love looking at her silhouette when she dopes up the alzhimer's patients over by those bay windows at dawn."

Xander sighed dreamily. "She does look amazing by that window, with the ferns and the light." Suddenly, he shook his head. "But, I can't just walk up to her and say that. I talk, women immediately run in the other direction."

"Oh, piffle!" He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "The trick to most women is, as long as you're prattling on and on about them, they'll pay close attention."

"Is that right?" a mocking voice called from behind.

Floppy brown hair covered his eyes as Xander turned around with a nervous laugh. "Oh, hey, Buff! I was just -- uh, chatting up Cupid. You know, seeing what kind of insane you were up against - definitely not getting advice." With a low whistle he gave the 'crazy' signal as he slowly backed away. "Boy, you've got your hands full with this one. Well, I'm off to empty those bedpans I love so much..."

'We'll talk later,' he stealthily mouthed to the Brit before practically running down the hall.

With her hands placed firmly on her hips, Buffy's eyes rolled in her patient's direction and were met with an irritating smirk.

"Crack staff you got here, Doc," he chortled.

**

"So, how are things on Mt. Olympus?" Buffy said as patronizingly as possible.

With a snort, the man stopped pacing the room and made himself comfortable on the window sill.

"Good, I s'ppose. One non-stop clothing optional party, lots of wine and frolicking nymphs..." He trailed off as he cracked the window and began padding the pockets of his robe. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he slipped one between his lips, "If you could imagine."

She shrugged. "I saw Boogie Nights." Buffy looked up briefly from her notes, frowning. "And there's still no smoking in here."

Curiously, he quirked an eyebrow. "You'll breathe the shit out there but heaven forbid a lil second hand crosses your path."

"My lungs are fickle that way," she deadpanned. "So, why aren't you currently living it up with the nympths?

"At the expulsion hearing the blighters went on and on about me 'relearning my craft'." He rolled his eyes. "The state of romance and love, bladdy, blah, blah -- all a gigantic waste of time."

"Why's that?" Buffy asked.

Pausing thoughtfully, he let the cigarette rest between his pouty lips. "Ten couples -- I've got one bloody week to unite ten couples without the aid of my bow and arrow and then I can be let back in - to frolick or what have you."

Buffy quickly scribbled down some notes before looking up again. "Okay, so, Neptune - what's the word on him?"

"Cheap pillock." He took a long drag and exhaled, watching the smoke curl out the open window. "Gives me a team of oxen and a handful of sheep every year for my birthday."

Buffy stared at him blankly. "Not exactly the information I was looking for..."

"Neptune..." he began sighing heavily, "Jupiter's older brother, helped defeat the Titans, and rules the seas. Does a so-so job of it."

"Venus and Mars?"

He shot her a look over his shoulder. "Mum and Da -- come on, Doc."

Putting her pen down Buffy looked him directly in the eye. If he wanted a challenge, boy, she was going to give him one. "Romulus?"

"Founder of Rome."

Her teeth clenched. "Minotaur?"

"Nasty buggers," he grinned, "bull's head, man's body -- tends to leave a dump about this high in the middle of the streets."

Eyes narrowing, he casually left his perch on the window and Buffy leaned forward,

"Peleleous!" they shouted simultaniously.

"Theban leader during the Trojan War. Needs gastric bypass surgery."


Graduated at sixteen, the validictorian of her high school, went on to Harvard on a full scholarship and was third in her class -- the same could be said about her performance in graduate school. Through tremdous focus and determination, Buffy Summers nabbed her PhD in Psychology at the tender age of twenty-four and proudly had her own, successful practice in her home town of Sunnydale just three years later.

She was a contributing author to the likes of Cosmo and GQ on the subject of relationships. She was looked up to, respected, and was suddenly very willing to throw all of this away just to put the heel of her size seven Minlo Blahniks up 'Cupid's' ass.

"Fine," Buffy sighed throwing her hands in the air, "you know your mythology -- anyone with half a brain can crack a book. So, tell me, how did Psyche react when the gods booted you back to earth?"

"Who?"

She eyed him curiously. "Psyche. Your wife."

"Ohh..." he breathed deeply, running a hand through his platnium curls, "you mean Dru."

"Dru?"

"Nutter changed her name about a thousand years ago." He shook his head. "Didn't think 'Psyche' was dangerous enough for the likes of her..."

"Wheras 'Dru' strikes that certain fear in your heart," Buffy said with a snort.

Pausing briefly, he smiled - a geniune smile, regarding her. "You know, luv, your hair would look much better down."

Unconsciously Buffy's hand shot up to her ponytail. She scowled. "There's nothing wrong with my hair; and I'm not your 'luv'."

"Right." He nodded. "Anyway, Dru and I split a while ago."

"Cupid divorced!" she gasped in mock disblief. "Say it isn't so."

"Shit happens." He frowned. "Or in my case, butch water nymphs happen," a sigh, "I swear that chit was more manly than I am, and that's hard to do lady! Had a tattoo on under her chin that said 'untouched by man'. Pfft! As if any self respecting bloke would want to put his dick in..."

"Okay!" Buffy shouted throwing her hands up. "I get the picture!" Disgusted she made a face, "God you're a pig."


**

"In conclusion, after weeks of therapy, I believe this patient is no danger to himself or to others. Therefore I am reccomending to this competency committee his immdiate release. He has taken great strides in overcoming his delusional state and no longer believes he is Cupid."

"And yet you still have no idea of his true identity?"

Buffy swallowed the huge lump that had suddenly formed in her throat and gave the stuffy committee a weary smile. "Well...I..."

"It's William," he spoke up so sudden, the tiny blonde practically jumped out of her skin. "William Hale. Most people call me Spike."

"Spike?" Buffy asked quietly

His tongue curled behind his teeth in a lascivious smile. "Care to find out why, pet?"

"Not unless I'm currently unconscious," she ground out.

"Does he have any money? A place to stay?" one of the comittee members asked in earnest.

"Well, when we found him he had a total of forty seven dollars and fifty cents in his pocket," Buffy answered.

"Good enough for one cup of coffee at Starbucks," Spike snickered.

"He's right; that amount of money isn't going to get him anywhere in this town."

Buffy smiled brightly. "I'm sure he'll have no trouble finding employment..."

"Under the circumstances, Ms. Summers we believe Mr. Hale should be strictly under your care until it is proven he is able to function entirely on his own..."

Her face quicky fell. "But, Mr. Hale can fuction just fine on his own right now! He - he's a function machine!."

Spike stared at her blankly. "Who or what taught you how to talk."

"It's just..." Buffy continued desperately, "I've got a full case load as it is and..."

"It's obvious Mr. Hale would further improve if he was in your hands, Ms. Summers -- are you willing to accept this resonsiblity."

Hesitating, Buffy took a deep breath,

"Yeah. I guess."





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